Beautiful things that have caught my eye recently

Man Ray- Hand on Lips, 1929

This one is purely for joy.

Whenever I see this photograph I feel like I am falling in love.

Coping with change

It is a truism in counselling that one's ability to cope with change is strongly connected to how one views change- if we see change as the end of something then it is likely to be much harder to come to terms with but if we see change as creating potential for an interesting and constructive future then we are more likely to come to terms with this newness earlier. 

In and of itself grief seemingly has no constructive use. Why do we grieve? Why have we evolved the ability to feel such incredible fissures through our mind during grief with no discernible use for such pain? I don't know why we grieve but I know, through personal and professional experience, that we can have courage to continue and live a new life, of sorts, after great loss. 

I have endeavoured to create a greater sense of control in some aspects of my life because it is possibly the most positive influence towards good mental health (the obverse of this coin is that a great deal of mental distress comes from lack of control and autonomy- assault, illness, neglect and grief put us into psychic pain due, primarily, to being "out of control" and, often, the less control we have during a distressing incident the greater the trauma as seen in people who develop severe and complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Help can come from a desire for control which can be damaging (such as the development of an eating disorder or ingestion of psychoactive drugs) or constructive (such as exercise or psychotherapy). Our long term coping ability is strongly influenced by our sense of personal control. 

I have worked hard to force myself to consider positive changes after Ruby died, to force myself to consider any good that can come out of it all and to regain control of my life. This has lead me to consider my life in a way I have never done before and to not be afraid to ask the largest question I have ever asked myself, maybe the largest question anyone can ask themselves- how will I live? 

Everything changes. Some things more, some things less, but everything changes. To help me cope navigating these changes I have to consider my route or I will remain forever floating in a directionless sea, a slave to fatalism and the whim of others. If I consider my own fate, if I live how I want to live, I have control. And if I make my future I can become what I want.

So what do I want to become and how will I live to achieve this? I want to become someone that Ruby would be proud to call her daddy. I have high but reasonable ambitions- I want to do no harm, I want to do good, I want to love more, I want to play a greater part in my friendships and in my community of human strangers, I want to defend the vulnerable, I want to take care of other living organisms and the environment. All these things involve active participation and consideration in my world so how do I do it?

I did, and continue to do, what I can- I have become vegetarian, I stopped all sneaky cigarettes, I exercise more than ever, I try very hard to be sociable and to interact more warmly (this is harder than it sounds because I am a bit of a loner and tend to prefer my own company), I consciously identify and try not to concern myself with things beyond my control and, instead, I consider things over which I do have control, I am more concientous at work, I am more dismissive of irrelevances, I put effort into finding and identifying beautiful things (whether this is pottery, food or flowers), I challenge bullies and so on.

There are other potential positives worth considering through this process of change:

Ironically, my consideration of control and change has identified the need to let go, too. Knowing what I need to dismiss, and then dismissing it, has helped me. I have no control over Rubys existence now, she is not alive and never will be, I will never see her again (it has taken two years since her death for me to have the ability to even write such words). I have worked very hard at dismissing the idea that I will see her again and instead try to focus on the things I do have control over ie. what do I do instead? I have been forced into realising the importance of letting go and the therapeutic benefits this has for me. 

Grief has brought a new found sensitivity in me providing an increased responsiveness to subtle maltreatment by others. In connection it has also sensitised me to fragility and tenderness and has matured my appreciation of delicacy.

I am not alone among colleagues, friends and my patients who have been through traumatic loss in using humour as a foil to abstemious pomposity, a very useful coping mechanism. When communicating with people who take themselves too seriously (inflated egos, over-confidence) I now have the strength to suggest a gentle deflation. Many people I have met who have been through strong distress have an ability to raise their head up to a universal perspective and have an acute sense of what really matters and, more importantly, what doesn't. If something is not essential don't take it seriously. 

There has been the kindness of strangers, the new knowledge that everyone has a story worth hearing, an increased understanding of great distress, treating everyone carefully because I don't know "what battles they have going on down there where the spirit meets the bone" (as beautifully put by the musician Lucinda Williams), giving everyone new that I meet the same foundation I give a new painting-  the advantage of a good light. 

The essential expectation and hope is that my future has potential and it can be in my control. It has potential for suffering, of course, but also laughter, love, growth, warmth, beauty, reward through endeavour and maybe eventual happiness. 

Father's Day

It was Father's Day two days ago and my heart broke all over again.

I had almost forgotten this unique and extraordinary pain. 

I also know why the caged bird sings

I run three times a week. I run for many reasons and feel its worth in many ways but the most rewarding experiences I have are the thoughts that can run free in my mind. I may run for two hours at a time. I cannot make a conscious decision to focus on a particular idea but, as I run, my mind is in the moment and It is free to float across thoughts that can sometimes take root. When this happens I can spend an hour or more examining this idea in total freedom without the restrictions that somehow impinge on ideas during normal times. Sometimes, in that moment, I am happy.

I went to a cafe this morning and ran this evening. This is what I thought when I ran. 

Very near my table were two men clinging onto their 40's in suitably conservative striped shirts, socks that are too bright and both had shaved heads because they have to. They both wear glasses that were designed with "aspiration" as their primary aesthetic. They say things like "twenty k" and "five mil" and "hard engineering" and "shifting units". I feel no connection to them. 

There were two women in their 70's sitting in front of me. One is wearing a mint green top the other a light blue top of exactly equal shade and from a shop that must sell only these type of clothes to only these women. They went to the same hairdresser on the same day and asked for matching designs. They appear to be expressing distaste for whoever has left their church recently. I don't understand them. 

In the corner, among the toys, sat three women in their late twenties. Each of them is a slightly different shade of orange and they each have yellow hair. They are nattering over each other as if in competition. There are four toddlers, oblivious to everything except the toy in front of them. I don't know the subject of their conversation but it appears to change by the minute. No one is doing any listening. 

There is a man and woman sitting in the far corner. Their eyes are fixed on each other. Both are married although quite obviously not to each other. He is sitting upright trying to force his stomach in and his chest out. He is animated, strutting, displaying. She is laughing too loudly at his jokes and keeps fiddling with her neckline. Twice she leant forward, lowered her voice and whispered something whilst touching his knee. In response he swept his eyes from side to side in a mock "are we being watched" way and responded to her enquiry with a confession, causing more giggles. They are a million miles from me. 

I could be their ghost, haunting them all if I could be bothered. Any second now someone will walk over to me and sit through me onto the chair below. 

As the cafe got busier and the volume rose and rose individual voices became a murmur in a formless swarm. The busier it became the more formless the drone and the more distant I became. I put my head into my hands, closed my eyes and focused with all the energy I could to single out one voice. I was throwing a lifeline to anyone to connect to but, at what felt like the end of my search, there was no one to pull me back. I was free-falling. 

I started to leave when an elderly woman approached me with a warm and genuine smile and asked to share the table as it was so busy. In an instant I was thrown into human connectedness again by the six second relationship she offered me. There were businessmen doing a deal, old friends catching up on the gossip, new friends sharing parenting tips and a flirty couple helping each other feel fun and desirable again. That woman brought me back. 

Twenty five years ago I read Mayo Angelou's biography "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings". She died one year ago this morning at around the same time I listened to a radio programme about the history of the anti-lynching song "Strange Fruit" brought to life by Billie Holiday. I have always known Angelou as the caged bird, with bound feet and clipped wings imprisoned by white oppression, black disempowerment and violence. I know she sings for freedom, for her rights, for dignity, for love. But I never understood WHY the caged bird sings. Until today. It is obvious- the caged bird sings because it has to. The caged bird can't not sing. It doesn't sing because of desire, because it wants to, it sings because it has no choice, it is compelled to sing. 

I can feel caged by my grief. It can imprison me. But I still sing because I have to. I sing for human contact, for warmth, for mental rest, for hope. And that stranger in the cafe, just for a moment, set me free. 

The universe should mourn

There are so many people that will never meet Ruby. I want the world to grieve with me. I want everyone alive to know what they have missed out on and I want them to feel forever sad at their loss. Every human should be aware of not knowing her. Every wild animal should know she will never look at them and wonder about their lives. Every building that does not contain her breath should want to crumble. Every landscape she has not admired should be in shadow. The sun should dim, flowers bow their heads, forest should be in winter. Every rock not climbed on should become mossy or fall into the sea, they have no purpose. Every star in her sky should fall away into inky space. They have no reason. All the water not drunk by her, washed over her, swam in by her should wish for permafrost.

Every pillow should be cool and plump, every sheet flat. All those brushes unaware of the contours of her head and her teeth. 

There are billions of brains unchanged by their lack of Ruby. Billions of smiles and tears of joy that will not happen because billions of ears will never hear her. There are billions of hands that are a little colder because they won't have her touch, billions of eyes that sparkle less bright because they have not seen her. I pity them all and I am angry with them all for their ignorance. 

Whether it knew Ruby or did not know Ruby the universe should mourn its loss. 

A thousand years you said, as our hearts melted. I look at the hand you held and the ache is hard to bear - Lady Heguri

Little dragonfly hunter, I wonder where you are off to today - Chiyojo

A love letter to Ruby

It is nearly two years since Ruby died. I don't feel like writing. I wrote this letter for her funeral. Two years is a long time to not see your child.